


Dark Horse

by littleberd



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) RPF, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, And So Much More, Credence Barebone doesn't exist here, Gellert doesn't go to America, Gellert isn't original, Grace is just trying to do her job, Grindelwald being a politician, Harry is very much confused about all of this, I want comments damn you, It's really all Newt's fault, John Shelby always wanted a younger brother, Kinda Dark, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mayhem, Newt being an adorable hufflepuff, No Horcruxes, Obscurial, Oh no no no, Polly needs another drink, Prophecies, Takes place in London not Peaky Blinder's setting, The year Peaky Blinders takes place is being matched to Tom's, This is one big clusterfuck, Tina is after Newt, Tina is fed up with Newt, Tina's tired of the goose chase, Tom is done with everyone, Tom is too, Tommy being a clever prick as always, Tommy did find something, Tommy doesn't know what to do about the man, What Have I Done, aka albus too many names dumbledore is a manipulative asshole, albus fucking dumbledore is a bastard, and Harry will say it to his face, author right's to wave eligible men being forced to join the military, but it wasn't guns bound for Libya, but it's an interesting clusterfuck, crackhead writing hours, cus I'd never write a fic with him in it and not her, from happening, he knows what buttons to press, he's ravaging Europe, no thought brain empty, or crates of whiskey, or two, she going to shoot the goose (ie. Newt), the Lee family - Freeform, there is not enough mind power to keep up with him and Nagini, tho I do love him, too much going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleberd/pseuds/littleberd
Summary: Tommy reluctantly holds out his left hand, palm up.She quickly puts it in his hand before forcing his fingers to curl around it, looking around with a scared tick in her eyes. She leans up on tiptoe, "Please, I need to whisper it, there are too many ears."LISTEN, TRUSTHis instinct has never steered him wrong before, so he leans over enough to feel her breath tickle his ear."Don't deny yourInstinct. It will never fail you. Burn it once you've read it. Don't tell anyone else, it's not that you can't trust them. Just as your power works for you, so too do other's powers work for them."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Newt Scamander/Tommy Shelby, past Albus Deumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Little Thing Called Instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is more of an extended summary or prologue if you will, Just know my chapters will definitely be much longer than this.

Tommy Shelby looks down from the newest race horse he'd acquired at the fortune telling Chinese washerwoman _witch_ , a fraud but a cunning one from what his sources recalled. 

"Sir this is her."

"The girl who tells fortunes?" Tommy tilts his head, eyes judging her. He listens, listens to the whisper in his ear that always reveals things. Truths, lies... Polly always called it instincts while never meeting his eye. 

His _instinct_ was telling him that she wasn't a liar...

Which made it all the better that she was doing this.

She nods, revealing a hand full of red powder, the air seems to whisper and Tommy can feel the chilled breeze as even the muffle of laundry being stirred is silenced. The girl's pupils expand, far larger than what should be humanly possible. She blows the powder at his ebony horse, the particles turns gold and warm, no longer red as rust but embers escaping a furnace. His mount's muscles seem to ripple with tension and then calm. Sound invades imperceivably into the bubble of stillness where it had once been.

"They're doing a magic spell to make 'em win the race." Tommy hears the stage whisper from one of his newspaper boys behind a crumbled wall.

"The horses name is Monaghan boy, Kempton, 3 o'clock, Monday. You ladies have a bet yourselves, but don't tell anyone else!" Tommy yells loud enough for any of the nosy biddies eavesdropping to hear. Tommy slowly trots away, a smirk hidden in the shadow of his hat. 

_All is going to plan._

"WAIT!!!! MR. SHELBY WAIT!!!"

Tommy stalls at the call for his attention, slowly turning Monaghan boy back towards the washerwoman, eyes squinted in suspicion.

"Mr. Shelby! I've-I've got something with me you need!" She yells running to him. She stops about an arms length away, sweat pouring down her face, as she shoves a clenched hand towards him.

Tommy reluctantly holds out his left hand, palm up.

She quickly puts it in his hand before forcing his fingers to curl around it, looking around with a scared tick in her eyes. She leans up on tiptoe, "Please, I need to whisper it, there are too many ears."

_**LISTEN, TRUST** _

His instinct has never steered him wrong before, so he leans over enough to feel her breath tickle his ear.

"Don't deny your _**Instinct**_. It will never fail you. Burn it once you've read it. Don't tell anyone else, it's not that you can't trust them. Just as your power works for you, so too do other's powers work for them." She is already scampering away when Tommy looks at his hand. Mystified by the woman that knew too much. He turns Monaghan boy around once more and heads onward to the stables.


	2. Honey Badgered

The thing in Tommy's hand burns, but as the woman said there were ears not meant to hear it. He knew that there were eyes not meant to see it too by the instructions to _burn it after you read it_. Whatever it is, it's dangerous. And simply reading it out of curiosity out in the open is not something Tommy feels will end well. So it stays, curled there. Until he's put the horse that will never lose a race into his stall.

Curly brushes him down and coos at the stud lovingly. Tommy sequesters himself to an empty stall and opens his hand. There is a slim slip of paper rolled up and sealed with an emblem embossed on red wax. He carefully breaks it and unrolls the small unassuming little poem written in red ink.

_"The Golden Heart that Wanders  
Will drink from your own pint  
His collection of fantastical wonders shall open  
Souls' bonded by magics' right_

_In the Sirens' cave, a dark Ophanim born  
Your Son, in all but blood  
Tread caref'lly 'fore the Serpent's King  
For the childe's affection of you has yet to bud_

_Beware the man with a twinkle in his eye  
Manipulations & Falsehoods are all he speaks  
The road to hell is paved with good intentions  
And "For the Greater Good" he says he seeks_

_A Dark Lord shall come forth to claim  
Artifacts not his own  
Their rightful master, your sons' future  
Amongst allies yet to be made, yet your blood and bone"_

Tommy's brow wrinkles at the nonsense he's been taking seriously. But his instinct...

_**TRUST** _

Is practically hissing in his ear. So reluctantly, Tommy endeavors to memorize it. And once he has, he shuffles the hay with his shoe until there's a patch of dirt, takes out a match and lights it to the end of the paper. Letting it burn there on the ground until it's nothing but ash. Tommy leaves to fetch a bit of water and pours it on the ashes to make sure his business doesn't go up in flames.

The incredulity of it all has Tommy craving a drink but it's not even 9 o'clock yet. He bids Curly goodbye, almost ignored by the devoted equestrian man.

Going to the bookie house turns that craving into a cure for the headache stirring, the beginnings of a thunder storm behind his temples. And the reason for that? Arthur, Arthur Bloody Shelby. Tommy loved his older brother, respected him as a man. But he was not a business man, as much as he _tried_ and subsequently _failed_ to be.

After coming back from the war, Arthur had immediately wrenched control of the Shelby business from Polly. Whom none of the brothers minded running the business whilst they were away. But once back was expected to give command back to the men, or 'boys' as she called them. Giving control to Arthur, as was his right by birth... was something Polly didn't want to do. Not because she didn't trust or respect him. She'd basically raised them since their bastard of a father skipped town on a train and never looked back. But she knew as much as Tommy.

Arthur Shelby is not a business man. And the stress it brought on his brother kept him awake with nightmares of the war and a manic trembling that happened too often to be healthy. The first rule of being Leader was to never show weakness.

After it became apparent, Tommy and John voiced their opinion with Polly. Wrestling the mantle from Arthur was an endeavor that cost them good money, but it was needed. Arthur still begrudged that he was in charge, but they all knew it was only in name. Tommy became the leader.

And now Arthur was poking and prodding at Tommy _again_. Arthur just couldn't rest in the bed he made, and was, as it has become an annoying pattern, trying to make mountains of mole hills in Tommy's opinion.

"You was seen... doin the powder trick down at Garrison courts." Arthur sneers, sitting in the head office chair and pouring himself a shot of whiskey. Tommy eyed the liquor bottle, temptation and aggravation hiding under his blank mask.

"Times are hard," Tommy replies, his mood souring further as Arthur corks the bottle and stows it back in the drawer,"People needed a reason to bet."

"There was a Chinese." Arthur continues, swiping the shot and shooting it back.

"The washer women say she's a witch." Tommy stares at the now empty shot glass as it's placed gently back on the table, "Which helps them believe, myself included... she wasn't a charlatan Arthur. I _**Felt**_ it."

"Aah there you go with your bloody _instinct_ again. You and Polly with that damned trump card. It's not getting you out of this. We don't mess with Chinese." Arthur seethes.

Tommy rolls his eyes, "Look at the book-"

**SLAM**

A heavy fist bangs against the desk, the bookies go quiet, until Tommy glares them back into minding their damn business. "Chinese! Have cutters of their own." Arthur growls.

Tommy shakes his head, sighing, but continues, "We agreed Arthur. I'm taking charge, of drumming up new money."

Arthur averts his eyes, lips tight before breathing out dejectedly. Wringing his hands with nerves, "What if Monaghan Boy wins Tommy? You fixing races now? Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races, hmm?"

Arthur stirs in his seat, leaning forward towards his brother, worry marring his features. "What's got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber."

Arthur shoots up, "Billy's got a **bloody** ARMY Tommy!"

Tommy's eyes lock onto his brother's, "I _think_ , Arthur. That's what _I_ do."

Tommy stalks forward, the click of his heel on the hard wood echoing with a forbearance that he shouldn't have. Arthur shrinks away, before trying to fix his mistake, standing straighter, but Tommy leans into his space, "I **think**. So that you don't have to." He pulls away, like a curtain in a gentle breeze.

Arthur licks his lips and shakes himself out of whatever _that_ was. "There's news from Belfast."

Tommy's already leaving through the door, Arthur rushes after his brother with the red of indignity cast on his face, "I'm calling a family meeting at eight o'clock."

Tommy stops and turns to his brother with disappointment, finding the smug look on Arthur's face having finally gotten a rise out of his younger brother that irks Tommy even more. Tommy swivels back around and departs, only hearing the tail end of "I WANT ALL OF US THERE TOMMY! YOU HEAR ME!"

**********************************************************

Tommy walks into the Garrison Bar with an air that quite effectively says _fuck off if you know what's good for you_ and tosses his hat on the bar.

The Bartender, _bless him_ , immediately comes to Tommy, saying in a quiet voice as to not further the migraine making war behind his brow. "On the house Mr. Shelby." Offering an empty glass and a full tumbler of bourbon for the stressed man. _I really ought to make the boys come round more. More customers more money for the man._ Tommy puts down a generous tip only for the throbbing to intensify at the brief memory of Arthur. _Yeah, not bloody likely. I don't think I can be surrounded by them more than I already am or I'll blow a bullet in a skull._ Tommy pours himself a glass and unceremoniously downs it. Who's head in question might be anyone's guess.

He pulls out a match and cigarette, taking a puff and blowing out his stress with a breath. Nerves settling, Tommy looks around, an arch in his eyebrow already rearing to catch any of the boys if they're ditching duties. And there his eyes lock onto the Freddie _Thorne_ in his side. Tommy grits his teeth as he turns back around, mentally preparing himself for his once ex-best mate to come and try to wheedle information out of him.

"I'll take a mild."

Tommy takes a long drag, looking down only to see Freddie take a coin from his tip to pay for this cheeky bastard's _mild_.

The bartender raises an eyebrow at the gall, looking to him and then back again before shaking his head and taking the tip from Tommy and the stolen payment from Thorne grumpily. Thorne smirks and raises his pint to Tommy.

"Cheers, Thomas, good health to you." He takes a drink and sets it down. Tommy doesn't look at him, in the hope the ass will catch a hint. His hope is quickly stomped out as Freddie picks up his hat, no doubt looking at the razors sewn into the trim. 

"The crown of a prince." He tosses it back onto the bar carelessly, "Soon-to-be _king_ , I'd bet."

Tommy glares at him for the disrespect, tapping the ashy end of his cigarette before leveling his eyes at the man, "You don't _bet_."

"No but these last few days I've been speculating." 

Tommy's cigarette stops a mere centimeter from his lips, a guess at why the stubborn fool next to him was going with this topic. "About what?"

The smile spreads on Thorne's face, having thought himself a fisherman finally getting a bite on his line. Thinking himself to have caught a prize fish, not realizing that the shadow over his boat was Moby Dick's maw ready to chomp down on him any bloody second.

"One of my union comrades has a sister who works in the telegraph office at the BDA factory. She says, over the past week, they've had messages in London to the Brass. From Winston Churchill himself." Freddie wedges himself closer, plucking the cigarette from his hand and taking a puff, and blowing it in Tommy's face. "Something about a robbery."

Tommy stills, staring the man down. Perhaps Thorne had caught a fish after all. " 'A robber of national significance,' it said. She found a list of names left on the telegraph machine. And on that list was your name and my name together."

"Now what kind of list would have a name of a Communist and the name of a bookmaker side by side?"

Tommy breathes out, the mask of indifference being put on, "Perhaps it's a list of men who give false hope to the poor. The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that sometimes, my horses stand a chance of winning." Grabbing the bottle of bourbon, his hat, and the pint of mild and walks away from the man.

But Thorne, always wanting to have the last word, gripped onto Tommy's shoulder and reeled him back, growling into his ear. "You know, there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings, and I _really_ wish I'd let you take that bullet back in France."

Tommy chuffs, shoving him off and shaking his head, "Believe me, there are nights I wish you had."

He escapes to the Private room, sitting down hard onto the bench, rubbing his temples and sighing at the muffled murmur of the pub and the gulps from his pint-

Tommy's eyebrows scrunch, watching the rude man who was _drinking from his own pint_. Without a second thought Tommy pulls out his gun and cocks it, the end of the barrel digging just deep enough for Tommy to feel when the man stops mid-swallow.

"So you're the _golden heart that wanders_ hmmm? I can smell spices on you, any particular chance you've had tea with a Chinese washerwoman today?" Tommy asks. The stranger slowly puts the pint down, avoiding eye contact but Tommy is able to see the pretty specks of gold in his teal eyes. He notices the state of him, messy hair that's matte from skipped showers, the bit of dirt smudged on his cheek that almost makes his freckles disappear. His overcoat is scorched on one sleeve, and there are holes from where something burned it further. The white shirt underneath has small spots of old blood or more dirt stains, Tommy doesn't know which it is, not close enough to tell the difference.

"I don't know quiet what you mean... I haven't met any Chinese Ladies in the past couple of days. I just arrived in London an hour ago, but I'll be leaving shortly. I can't afford to stay for long. I apologize for my rudeness. I will compensate you, good sir. So if you could please, put down your gun. As you can see," The scraggly young man holds up his hands, one is holding a rather unusual stick, slim and engraved. "I am unarmed..."

Tom squints at the man.

_**LYING. STICK DANGER** _

"You know... You haven't looked me in the eye for the entire time you've talked. Put the stick down-"

He swishes the stick and the bullets in Tommy's gun fly out and into his hand, a slash with it and Tommy's body becomes unnaturally stiff. The stranger sighs, continuing to avoid eye contact and proceeds to drink the rest of the beverage. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve and wincing at the burn.

"I don't actually like alcohol much but it's been a good two days since I've had anything to drink or eat. You're rather smart for a muggle... and my notice-me-not charm was completely ineffective. If things could be different I'd like to have gotten to know why. But I can't afford to dally." The man murmurs, Tommy's hand twitches out of whatever strange phenomenon has occurred, he continues to strain and relax his muscles, progress to his freedom. The gutter rat must see the distress on his face and actually meets his eyes for the first time. Tommy is surprised at the warmth in them, there's not a hint of malice.

_**TRUST** _

"No no I'm not going to kill you! I know this must be pretty terrifying but I won't hurt you. I'm just going to erase your memory of seeing me here. If Miss Goldstein Leglimensed you, you'd be brought into the Ministry and they'd just obliviate your entire memory. Horrible overreaction on their part honestly-"

Tommy fully regains control of his body and swats the stick away. Jumping over the table, Tommy and the man wrestle, constantly trying to grab for the stick. The brunette's hand brushes against the suitcase, Tommy was only just realizing was by the bench, it opens and the strange man does what should be impossible.

He rolls them inside. It snaps shut with a resounding click.


	3. Into the trunk

***********Newt's P.O.V.*************

They tumbled down the stairs, Newt manages to land on top of the man. He can feel the harsh impact of his body hitting the dirt floor. Newt whips his head around in a frantic search for his wand. He really should know better than to take his eyes off of a wild and agitated animal, he had the bite and claw marks as evidence of such past mistakes. So the heavy right hook to his jaw wasn't a surprise, but it was a distraction good enough to catch Newt off guard when two large hands, Newt can't help but to analyze the long fingers of a pianist with the grip of a dying man with a trigger finger, clutches Newt's head and knocks it swiftly against his own forehead.

Newt's head sways and the muggle rolls them over, the air getting knocked out of him and the subsequent pressure on his neck from the muscled arm pressing his throat into the dust they'd stirred. Newt squinted in pain up at the muggle choking him. Cleanly shaved face, nose slim with a slight bump, likely from multiple breaks but set correctly. Thin lips pulled back in a snarl but gritted from the pain the fall down the stairs had no doubt inflicted. His face was sharp and gaunt, chiseled with a bit of malnutrition from childhood if Newt was reading them right, small freckles dusted his face from a life working under the sun, eyebrows drawn in determination to live, to survive.

Newt could relate all too well. But the strangers eyes were another matter entirely. Ice, steal, gunmetal, tombstone, storm clouds... Newt couldn't find a match to the color, almost as intriguing as the fact the man was quickly able to resist the full body bind spell. Something that only a few wizards are able to do, but Newt couldn't sense any spell work from the man. Perhaps a descendant from a squib with a protection rune heirloom on him?

"Who are you bloody working for. What's your angle. TALK!"

Newt was far too clever not to come up with a plan of action, surviving all the situations and confrontations with his creatures wasn't from dumb luck after all. Only a few more seconds of the pressure to his neck and he'd be unconscious, any more than that and he'd be dead. Newt goes limp in surrender, tapping the arm with a barely wheezed "Uncle".

The man relieves the pressure just enough for Newt to be able to speak. Wand less magic was do-able, especially in life threatening situations.

"Ventus!"

The man is thrown back, Newt hadn't meant to put as much force into it as he had but the need to breath over-road his control.

Where the man landed however... the sound of a spell breaking, the tinkling of glass falling and then, to Newt's horrified dismay, a swirling mass of grey, it's kind always glutinous, consuming everything it touched with a ravaging, starving hunger.

_oh no._

Newt scrambled to his feet in time to see the rare creature, the first magical parasite of it's species to be separated from it's host without succumbing to death, latch onto the muggle.

It was far too late for Newt to stop it from happening, and in a blink, the dust settled, the unassuming stranger knocked unconscious and lying prone on the ground, and the obscurious making itself comfortable beneath his skin.

The Obscurius had made itself at home in it's new host.


End file.
